


Every Four Hours

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Spooning, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't want to take his medication, and Cas doesn't take no for an answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Four Hours

To say that Dean was tenacious would be an understatement.  To be a hunter, you had to be tough.  Broken bones, dislocated shoulders, bullet wounds, stitches without anesthetic… it all came with the lifestyle.  Dean has been through hell.  
  
Literally.  
  
He didn't complain about it, either.  
  
Which is why Castiel was surprised to find that a _flu_ had reduced Dean Winchester to a shivering mass beneath a mess of hotel bed blankets.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
The shivering abruptly stilled and after a long pause (and a long string of colorful swears) Dean eventually pulled the covers back just enough to peek his head out.  
  
“… _Cas_?” He asked, voice cracking, eyes narrowed.  “Look, whatever you need-“  
  
“I do not require anything.  Sam prayed about your condition, I answered.”  
  
Dean grunted, making an effort to sit up but not managing to do much more than wrangle the covers down a bit further. He gave up after a moment, sighing in frustration. “Well? You gonna fix me up?”  
  
Castiel's fingers jerked out of reflex, itching to press against Dean's forehead like he had done so many times in past. Dean was careless with himself that way. “I... can't.  I'm still cut off-“  
  
Dean deflated. “Right.”  He pulled the covers back over his head and rolled the opposite direction with a pained grunt. “Then why are you here?” He grumbled, voice muffled.

“To provide comfort.”  
  
Dean let out a huff in amusement.

Resisting the urge to smite, Castiel prayed for patience and cautiously sat down next to Dean, the bed dipping under his weight. After a short internal debate, he placed a careful, warm hand on Dean’s back, feeling the small tremors Dean was attempting (and failing) to hide.  Dean tensed and jerked in surprise at the touch, squirming away and twisting around, pulling the blanket back down with a sharp tug.  
  
" _Dude_.  You don't need to coddle me.  Since when do you _coddle_ anyways?"

"You're sick."

Dean stared incredulously at him, waiting for something.  "And?"

“Sam says you aren't taking your medication.”  
  
“I don’t need it.”  
  
Before Dean could protest, Castiel laid his palm flat on his forehead.  “Your temperature says otherwise.”

"You've got to be freakin' kidding me."

Castiel plucked a bottle off the nightstand that Sam had pointed out earlier, carefully reading the instructions.  "Why would I 'kid' you?  Tylenol says you should be taking two pills every four hours while symptoms last.  So does Sam.”  
  
“Well, screw Tylenol, and screw Sam! I've been through worse, if you haven't forgotten,” Dean grumbled, finally remembering to push Castiel's hand off his face where it had drifted into the side a bit, thumb rubbing slow circles into his temple.  Castiel grabbed his wrist out of reflex, lips thinning as he stared him down.

"Dean."  
  
Dean glared balefully at Cas for an awkward minute before sighing in resignation and sinking back into the mattress, roughly pulling his wrist out of Castiel's grip (who allowed it).  “Jesus.  If it'll make you leave me alone, fine. ”  
  
It was a bit like dealing with a child, sometimes.  Castiel unscrewed the lid and carefully shook out two pills, handing them to Dean, who swallowed them dry.  Castiel patted Dean’s shoulder insultingly, before passing him a glass of water.   
  
He stared at it longingly for a split second before shaking his head.  “Nah, I’m good.”

"Are you able to sit up?”  
  
Dean looked insulted at the mere implication.  “Of course I can!”  
  
Castiel set the glass back down on the nightstand and then reached back over to wrap both hands around Dean’s upper arms, pulling him upright.  
  
” _Cas!_ ”  
  
Ignoring him, he picked the glass of water back up again and lifted it up to Dean’s lips, other hand cupping his chin.  
  
“Drink.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips, staring daggers at Castiel, who remained quite unphased.  
  
Slowly, as if it pained him, he opened his mouth.  Castiel tilted the glass forward cautiously and Dean drank as well as he could manage.  A little bit of it escaped and trickled out the corner of his mouth, and down.  Distracted, Castiel found himself breaking eye contact and tracking it's path before Dean noticed hurriedly lifted a hand to wipe it off and then pushed the glass away.  (Much more flushed than he was before.)  “Okay, _okay_.” 

Shaking himself out of whatever _that_ was, he complied and set the glass of water back down.  On impulse, he placed a hand on Dean’s ruffled bedhead, smoothing it out, strands of hair running between his fingers.  He wondered what it would like to grip-  
  
“Cas, I’m not a cat,” Dean grumbled, feebly pushing his hand away.  “Stop that.”  
  
His eyebrows furrowed.  “I’m aware that you are not a cat.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, pulling the covers back up to his chin. ”Turn out the light when you go."  
  
“Go?”  
  
Dean closed his eyes before turning over on his side, facing the other direction. “Yeah.  I took my freakin' medicine.  Mission accomplished.”  
  
A clear dismissal.  Sometimes Castiel lamented being so fond of him.

Often.  
  
Castiel stood and walked over to the light switch and flicked it off, engulfing the room in darkness.  For a moment he stood uncertainly at Dean's bedside, unsure of his next move, before he started working his coat off, mind made up.  He wasn't too knowledgeable about human habits yet, but he did know that they didn't sleep with trench coats on (and he might as well practice), so he slid it off his shoulders and it hit the floor, shoes and tie following suit.  Praying that Dean wouldn't react violently, he climbed in and underneath the covers in one swift movement.  
  
Dean jerked in surprise, head whipping around, eyes wide.  “Uh, Cas?”

Too far in to stop now, he ignored Dean in favor of pulling him flush against his chest.  He pushed his thigh between Dean’s legs, noting the hitch in his breath, curling an arm over his warm (too warm) chest.  
  
“Ca-“  
  
“I want to.  Just...”

Castiel trailed off, not knowing exactly what to say.  What _would_ he say?  Would he tell Dean, who was already in a fairly hopeless state of mind, that every _day_ the grace inside of him dimmed just a little bit?  That he was losing his connection to Heaven?  That slowly, he was forgetting the milennia that he had been alive because it was becoming _too much_?  That he was afraid of becoming completely useless the more human he became?  That without his powers, he was worth nothing to Sam and Dean? 

That he was afraid of losing himself in the process?

So instead, he said nothing.

Dean stayed silent.  He didn't pull away, so after a couple minutes Castiel tucked his face into Dean’s shoulder, resisting the urge to place a small kiss there.  That wouldn't be wise, either.  (Don't do it, don't tell him.)  
  
A few additional minutes, and Dean slowly sank back into Castiel's embrace, taking in a deep breath before exhaling it roughly.  "If you tell Sam about this..."  
  
Castiel smiled into his shoulder.  “Yes, Dean.”


End file.
